Her
by Live-Like-its-heaven-on-earth
Summary: Mainly HET a couple of YURI shorts. England's enjoyed different hobbies over the years, but there's always one thing that's never changed: sex. Snippets of FEMALE!England with A LOT of countries, a couple historical figures and a few fictional characters


_**So… back when the Rugby World Cup was going on I started writing random smut snippets in the hope to improving my writing because I really fail at writing sex scenes. Some are quite bad, some I'm not too happy with, some I think are ok, others could probably use some work and there's a few that I actually quite liked. I tried to make each snippet really different as well… so yeah they were just all over the place on my computer because it's been some months since I started practising so after the last two weeks I went about putting them all together and editing them, though some you can tell I just gave up with. Tell me what you think, advice is always appreciated and loved.**_

_**Also as an extra comment for any of my normal readers (it sounds weird to say that) that may happen across this, I've been highly busy recently, life is like SUPER stressful and I haven't had a chance to relax in AGES (hopefully that will stop soon) oh and I was super ill, so normal readers and my favourite people to talk to I'm not neglecting you or ignoring you everything's just awful at the moment, I mean this fic only exists because it just involved me having to hunt things down and put them together (which admittedly took much longer than I thought it would). Oh and HoshiUta! Thank you for the picture if you're reading this I'll send you a proper thank you message soon (where I will rant on how awesome it is like I usually do), you don't know how much I was grinning and was smiling after that (calmed me down from the stress for a while I must say).**_

_**Well anyway enough of my ranting, for some snippets it's not obvious who they are so I put who they all are at the end, so you have a little guessing work for a couple of them if you like. Hope everyone enjoys this took so long to make/work on! (Oh and I totally stole the formatting idea for this from a story called "21 times England did the deed" fabulous little story to read!)**_

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**.**

**.**

_**Her almost and always…**_

_**.**_

He's a little older… well physically. She's a little older… mentally and in every technicality that years are counted. But _he_ is taller than her now and that's all that really matters.

He places a kiss to her forehead, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, but he hesitates as their eyes meet and his lips are close to hers… He hesitates… he can't do it…

He loves his country, he loves her for her, but… they're not the same physical age as they had been… back when she looked after him… It just doesn't seem right anymore… never right in the first place… so she pulls back first, she'll live longer, she'll regret it for eternity, but he only has a short life and he just _has_ to enjoy it… he _HAS_ to.

So she pulls back, she smiles.

"Let's go back home, Arthur?" He'll be her knight, her king, her secret want… but that's all…

**.**

_**Her most amusing…**_

**.**

The keys rattle at her waist mockingly, she's made them very obvious; she wants him to see them, it couldn't be more obvious if she stuck a large sign on them saying: "key to Spain's relief". And he _needs_ relief.

"_Gordita_," He groans, there's sweat dripping down his face (the only coolness he can feel… everything's _so_ _hot_…). "_Por favor_…"

"Now, now Spain," she grins, her high heeled boots resting harshly against his crotch, he moans, whimpers and caves in physically. "You know I don't understand your bastardized language, so com'on…" She leans back in her seat, foot crushing down more, before she purrs out happily. "Say it in _my_ language."

He groans as she digs the heel of her boot in further, while the tip of her foot moves in such tormentingly delicious ways. He pulls at his chains; they're too secure to come loose. He falls forward even more and opens his mouth, breathe coming out in laboured pants.

"_Por_… _Por_… _Favor_…"

He won't cave yet, he might _never_ cave. And she won't welcome him inside until he does… she might never get the chance to let him in. But she doesn't care, he might be sent back to his country in a few days, gold in return (_oh… her oh so precious gold_) and then he'll catch her and do the same to her; get all the gold _she_ won back, when she's returned to her people, but neither will give until the other does, so maybe they'll be forever stuck in this endless cycle… But then again…

_She grins._

Maybe they won't…

**.**

_**Her most surprising…**_

**.**

If there was any of her old colonies that actually meant it when they called her that insufferable nickname of… "_mum_" she always assumed it was New Zealand, so when she finds herself sat between his crossed legs, his lips kissing along her neck, his hands attempting to reveal more flesh… she doesn't quite know what to think.

"You alright there mum?" He questions, concern filling his voice as he looks her into the eyes. Her emerald eyes remain like the jewel… doing nothing, but complimenting her _beautiful_ appearance.

There's face paint... A lot of it. A red cross is painted across her face, it drips over her lips and even though it's irritating there, she ignores it. He has the Maori like tattoos painted across his entire body in the colours of his flag: red, white and blue; his shirt thrown off earlier that day reveals that there isn't an inch of skin he's missed.

"Mum..?" He questions and she can't just leave a question one of her former colonies, especially such a loyal one, asked without an answer, so she moves forwards. Her lips brush against his. Lightly at first… _too_ lightly. She slowly applies pressure, her fingers gliding through New Zealand's matted hair and coaxes his lips open (not that he needed coaxing).

She pulls back a moment later- grinning. There's red coating New Zealand's lips and a bit smudged against his nose.

"I'm fine, just surprised you don't do the Haka before sex, I mean you do it before everything else I was starting to think there was nothing you wouldn't do it before," he laughs, strong arms easily finding their way around her waist.

"Didn't want to bring my win fresh to mind," he grins and kisses England, switching their positions so her back's on the ground with him leaning over her- a cheeky twinkle lighting his eyes. "But if you don't mind waiting I'd be happy to do one for you."

**.**

_**Her most gentle…**_

**.**

They both know what it feels like. They've both felt those horrid fingers as they try to pull apart each individual part of their freedom. They've both felt it. They've both defied it. And it's in this defiance that they both come together.

Poland's touch is hesitant. His hand lightly brushing against her cheek, thumb stroking along her cheekbone, he's sure they're not meant to be that obvious and jutted but it's probably from the hunger- the rations are small and she's looking after _so_ many. Her eye is bruised- _someone tried to stop Belgium and I from getting out of Dunkirk so we got into a scuffle- _had been the hasty explanation. Her lip has been torn into- _a stray bullet_- she had laughed. She didn't even make an excuse for the many bruises shaped like fingers pressed much harder than necessary that appear all across her body- her neck, her hip, her thighs.

"I like…" Poland mutters, letting his head lean against England's- their noses brushing together so close. "Don't want to hurt you…"

"You won't…" England mutters back- everything's quiet, so silent, she's sure she should be hearing Australia stomping around the house with New Zealand in tow, she should be able to hear India singing some song while he dances around the house, she should be able to hear Canada trying to make his bear remember his name… she doesn't… they're sleeping- resting for more fights that are sure to appear in the approaching night. Poland should be as well…

But he's here… comforting an England he had found crying for her people. She feels his fingers just resting on her cheek… not doing anything without her permission. She sees his eyes filled with understanding. She moves into his touch, moves closer to him- eyes not leaving his.

"You won't…" She reassures, she smiles as much as she's able and kisses the side of Poland's hand. "I trust you…"

**.**

_**Her most… precise…**_

**.**

His hands know what they're doing… well they learn to. She'll feel them firm and rough travel along her body, down one side of her leg up the other and then they'll return to the spot that made her shiver and ache and they'll tease and play with whatever area she didn't know made her feel like that… until the spot is numb and then those annoyingly amazing hands will move off somewhere else, find another spot she didn't know would make her back arch, would make her eyes widen, would make her moan and then he'll experiment how she likes to be touched there… until he's found the perfect strength, the perfect tempo.

His fingers move along her body like they would an instrument, hard enough to know that there's no way you'll let it drop, hard enough that it'll play the note it's been asked to in the right way, but not hard enough to snap it, not hard enough to break it. He's playing her like he would play a violin. She can imagine his long fingers now, wrapped around the neck, gliding along the strings, alternating between slow and fast movements depending on how he wants the song to sound, she can imagine his chin leaning so softly against the smooth wood and the solemn expression that would break across his face as though the violin was all he had left of a dear loved one. She sees him doing the same to her now, but there's a glint in his eye… an intrigued glint.

She lets out a breathy moan as his fingers glide along her breasts- searching for the perfect place… the perfect place for pitch, tone and volume. His chin rests against her knee and he places a kiss to the side of it.

"What peculiar beings you are…" he mutters, his eyes not quite able to contain the excitement and thrill of yet another wonder in the world, she smiles at him.

"Holmes you have a unique way of making a girl feel loved…" she breathes in quickly as his hands rub circles just below her perk nipple, she arches up. Too fast… too slow… too hard… Just… just right, she arches more; eyes wide.

"But of course you are the most intriguing of them all England…" He smiles at her. "After all, you are _my_ Country."

**.**

_**Her most awkward…**_

**.**

When she meets him for the first time… well she says the first time, but she knew him when he was the Holy Roman Empire- got along with him well enough, but that was never truly him… not completely. So now… when she meets him for the first time _properly_, it's obvious he has a little crush on her. It seems pointless… insignificant… she really doesn't need another problem to deal with after only recently crushing France…

But he smiles shyly. Face flushes bright. It's kind of sweet? Endearing? She's not sure of the word, but it makes her think of her Colonies… that's the only excuse she can think of for leading him on like she did. She saw an adorable face, thought of her sweet, sweet Colonies and wanted to give them… him whatever it was he wanted…

Only he isn't one of her Colonies… and for a teenage lad, he's tall and muscular… and he _wants_ **her**. She clearly doesn't think everything through when she kisses him on the lips. His lips push back eagerly; only to retreat a moment later… he hasn't a clue what he's doing…

It's a strange thought that Prussia's brother didn't know what he was doing. England smiles softly, masks her grimace easily. She hasn't taught a Nation to have sex in a long while… she hasn't had sex with someone who's fancied her in even longer, so she hides her grimace behind a smile.

"I'll show you," she takes his hands, larger than hers… _so_ much larger. And places them on her breasts- they're small… well just under average and his hands completely surround them with hand to spare- it would feel nice… if the blonde opposite her didn't look like he was about to burst in embarrassment. She strokes soothing circles into his hands and coaxes them into rubbing against her.

She smiles. She feels like it's going to be a long night and not exactly a pleasure filled one…

**.**

_**Her most arousing…**_

**.**

She's not sure why it's him that excites her the most. Maybe it's the fact that when he leaned up as far on his tip toes as he could, to leave her with a parting kiss when he left, his mouth had tasted like some rare recipe that she had never been able to figure out what it was, nor had she ever been able to forget. Maybe it's the fact that if she wants him now she has to sneak onto his land or him to hers- if China found out he would stop them from ever seeing each other again. Maybe it's the fact that when she visits he lays back, completely stripped, and lets her do whatever she wants and will obey whatever she asks of him.

Maybe it's his scent. She leans her head on his knee, watching as he lays back, hands entangled deep in the silk bed sheets, face flushed, rigidly breathing, his need straining and leaking but not touched- she doesn't go forward to touch it, he awaits her word. She kisses his knee, pauses and kisses a little lower- lets her head lean there instead. He smells of flowers- always has, but she just can't identify which… sometimes she notices the smell instantly- rose, sage, lavender- sometimes she can't place the strong over intoxicating smell… when that happens she just watches him with lidded eyes and strokes him slowly until she can place the smell- if she can't… she sometimes just leaves him there- he never complains, he never mutters a word of protest, he never finishes what she started.

He smells of jasmine today. It struck her nostrils the second she entered the room, he ran around sorting out her tea and whenever he brushed past she smelt it much stronger than before, much more prominent, much more alluring. He passed her, her tea and she sent him a look, it's not that much longer that her tea is forgotten and she has him below her, laid out for her, he doesn't beg- he wants to- he never begs. She kisses him everywhere all the while deciding if she should finish him up or tell him to do it for her to watch- she loves watching him do it himself, it makes her all the more wet…

She kisses his thigh.

But the ache watching caused was always so annoying so just for today… she _might_ let him take charge…

**.**

_**Her most poetic…**_

**.**

Two fingers glide between her breasts- her breasts aren't large, there's enough to enjoy but not enough to have mad fantasies about, the fingers tiptoe around the base of her breasts, _slowly_, as though wondering how to climb such "mountains". She's laid on her back, his legs are resting either side of her- they're outside in his garden, the grass is long enough to not be uncomfortable- the ground in wet… _damn_ English weather.

"_And did those feet in ancient times…_" He starts, leans down and kisses her neck.

"_Walk upon England's mountains green…?_" She gasps as his fingers trek along her mountains, find the top and claim it as their own. He pulls lightly at her nipple, moves it side to side, up and down, squeezes and then rubs it lightly and repeats _slowly_. She breathes harshly, mouth open- wanting to say something, legs scrunched up tightly- trying to not be as nearly as aroused by only a few touches as she is.

"_And was the holy Lamb of God,_" he stops touching her to mutter the next words, she tries to catch her breath, listening eagerly to the words- she's heard him say it all before- many times before, but she can't help but feel slightly flattered that he'd say them to her personally again… and again.

"_On England's pleasant pastures seen!_" Her eyes widen as his fingers slip over to her other nipple and tease it mercilessly, she gasps and moans and doesn't want him to stop… but she wants him finish her off and… and it's hot… so hot…

She turns her head into the wet grass beneath them and breathes, breathes in the scent of her land, the earth and she feels everything he's doing so much more turned away… she feels his lips move to her ear and kiss it feather lightly.

"_I will not cease from mental fight,_

_Nor shall my sword sleep in hand:_

_Till we have built Jerusalem,_

_In England's green and pleasant land._"

"You… you missed… two verses…" She mutters and hears him laugh pleasantly.

"Should I start from the beginning then?" He kisses her cheek lightly- smile on his lips, she nods her agreement- she's not going to let him cheat her out of another listening… a _FULL_ listening.

**.**

_**Her most unexpectedly pleasing…**_

**.**

His tongue slips between her folds and she doesn't quite know whether to thrust her hips forward and further into the feeling of him licking her in her most sensitive area, or whether she should thrust away from the intrusively wet tongue. She ends up thrusting forward but Romano just shifts his head slightly without problem and licks her more and God… she doesn't know how to feel as he uses the flat of his tongue to lick from one end of her opening to the other.

His hands stroke up and down her thighs: sometimes a finger slips in beside his tongue and teases her, sometimes circulating under her legs to grasp a handful of her arse to squeeze and grope. She arches into his every touch, head lolling back.

He licks, sucks; gives her a quick kiss and pulls back to look at her. She just barely manages to stop her legs from clenching around his neck and make them move him further into her… she doesn't want his mouth to leave now its snuck its way in, she's surprised to find his mouth so wonderful, but then again he _IS_ related to France and Spain so… it shouldn't be _TOO_ surprising… but it is.

"Your hands," he holds his hands out, face flustered and looks like he wants to curse as well as moan- it's endearing in its own way.

She gives him her hands and he takes them delicately, glides them along her own body, from her stomach he makes them slip and slide up to her breasts- he stops a moment- his eyes look contemplative before he clenches his eyes shut and gulps.

"I want you to rub them yourself while I make you… feel good…" he looks to the side embarrassedly. "Don't… don't do it too fast though… or it won't feel as good… not that… that I want it to feel good for you… or…" She almost wants to laugh at the adorable show of shyness, almost wants to laugh at the fact that he thinks she hasn't done this before (and trust her she _has_ masturbated more than enough to know what felt nice and what didn't), instead she agrees with what she's been requested to do.

"Good…" he mutters. "Even… even though you're an English… bastard… you… you are a woman… and need to be… treated… well…"

He ducks back down, ears' burning red and carries on his administrations and England goes about making herself feel even better, she rolls her breasts together, as he trails his tongue all over her and she has to admit- he's bloody damn good at it…

**.**

_**Her most embarrassing…**_

**.**

It was good. Oh it was _so_ good. But every time she hears the echoing sound of her large… assets as she walks by she can't help but fluster.

She remembers Ukraine's worn hands wrapped around her neck tightly, her breasts pushed together making them seem even bigger and the cute blush spread across her face. She also can't help but remember how she herself had eyed Ukraine's breasts fervently like she had told France off for doing so not too long ago, she can't help but remember how she grabbed them and how Ukraine moaned as she leaned in forward, letting their breasts rub together, nipples rubbing together- it was a little uncomfortable at first letting the hardening nubs knock together, but soon she can't help but moan along with Ukraine.

She remembers both of her hands setting to work on keeping their breasts bouncing against each others, she remembers her legs wrapped around Ukraine's waist as the girl barely manages to sit up, she remembers letting her tongue lick at Ukraine's lips- they're not soft, she hasn't spent money to keep them so, but they're not chapped like England suspects them to be from all the cold weather she has to deal with.

No… it definitely hadn't been bad. But it was embarrassing to know France was very much right in saying England would like breasts… big breasts… and England really doesn't want to agree to anything France says- but the frog _knows_ he's right and _knows_ she's proved it so and _THAT_ is infuriatingly embarrassing.

**.**

_**Her most hated…**_

**.**

He asks her politely to get on her knees, she does so without qualm, though she can't help but look back at him, eyes narrowed and calls him out for the bastard and pervert that he truly is. He laughs that ignorant laugh that is simply him and pulls in behind her.

"You got on your knees yourself, _Angleterre_," He mutters, kissing the end of her spine- she shivers.

"Doesn't mean I don't hate you," she grumbles as he slicks his fingers up, he hums his agreement- eyes watching on greedily as he uses his oily fingers to circle her entrance; he does that for a long while, before putting one finger _slowly_ in her, barely the whole nail, and just lets it rest inside her entrance… not moving at all.

Her face is flushed, her eyebrows drawn together in anger and her teeth bite her lip in aspiration. He won't move his fingers for a long while and even then he'll only go slightly further in and she will be damned before she begs him for it, so she stays kneeling in this humiliating position with her worst enemy slowly and sensually stretching her without complaint.

It'll end up being good… ok beyond amazing… she'll give the frog that, but it's torturous before hand, he'll torment her through it and they'll argue afterwards. She hates him and no matter how well he could use his fingers and mouth she wasn't giving him the pleasure of being anything but her most hated…

**.**

_**Her most roguish…**_

**.**

Gentleman isn't a word she'd associate with him. He wouldn't associate it with himself either. He wouldn't call himself anything but an average English lad- if being a Major, an ex-thief and a bastard child was the average English lad she had to question what was happening to her people.

She sits in his lap- both are completely stripped, his usual green military uniform thrown in to the corner, her traditional red uniform lays nearer to them. She had been rocking against him until he had circled his left arm around her waist and stopped her hips from moving, his spare hand rubs circles into her stomach, and his lips cover her neck- her neck's tilted for easier access.

She laughs.

"You know your wife is next door right?" She questions looking at him from the corner of her eye. "Why risk losing everything."

"For King and Country…" He mutters back, she knows he's lying- there's no risk in losing what he has already lost and he knows… and he's lonely, but still she can't help but grin and moan a little louder in the hopes his "wife" can hear, in the hopes she regrets playing with the heart of one of her soldiers.

"This from the man who accepted the King's shilling simply to escape prosecution?" She questions, trying to rock her hips back into his- his hand is still unmoving.

"I've grown up…" he mutters, bites lightly at her neck and she moans a little louder than needed and he smiles- amused by her antics, because seriously he's slept with her enough before to know she's trying to make this a bigger incident than it needs to be- and God he loves her for it…

**.**

_**Her loudest…**_

**.**

She hadn't meant to scream out like she did, but then again she hadn't expected to come so soon, her body tenses around him and he groans as she crushes him. Her back arches further than she expected it to, her head stretched back, her toes curled and she pants fast and her fingers claw into his back.

It's a slow process in her calming down, but he just grins down at her- blue eyes watching her hungrily and he's still in her: large and unmerciful. He rubs soothing circles into her legs and not too long her breathing's evened out and her toes have unfurled, but she's starting to get aroused all over again. She glares at him.

"Stop that," it's a simple command- he ignores it.

"You know you're enjoying it _wife_," he grins, it's all teeth.

Her eyes narrow and she hooks one leg around his knee, the other around his waist and pushes him to the side, he makes a show of following her silent command, his hands grabbing her waist to bring her rolling with him so she ends up straddling him- he slips in a little deeper- a little more uncomfortably. She grins at him.

"You want go for another round? _Fine_! But this time I'll make you howl like the berserker you claim to be," he laughs- loudly and prepares himself for a ride that he won't forget, especially when her brothers decide he isn't allowed near her after hearing all the noise they make.

**.**

_**Her most drunk…**_

**.**

It's the only way she can explain it. She had woken sprawled out on top of a large, strong chest- there was so many Nations it could have been that she just simply snuggled into it. She felt the chill curl around her and told her mind she'd probably slept with one of the Nordics (Denmark and Sweden probably) _again_.

"Um…" She hears the quiet and heavily Russian accented voice mutter. "Comrade could you untie me now…?"

Blinking she pushes herself up. Her hair slips over her shoulders and everywhere, her eyes blurrily blink open- emerald eyes slightly bloodshot and dark black bags building up beneath. She stares down at the Russian for awhile… he's completely naked (as is she), his face is flushed a bright red and his scarf is tying his arms way above his head. She splutters out something unintelligent, unties him, changes hastily and leaves in the hope of never having to have this incident brought up again.

Only sometimes her eyes meet his violet ones and she remembers something from the night, Russian and English mixed words desperately pleading as she teases him tormentingly. Her lips biting his abdomen as she works her way down to his growing erection- she takes the head in her mouth, its large and she wants to pull away instead she moans around him and starts to slowly bob her head, taking more of him in each time- each time more Russian pleads echo around them.

Once in the world meeting Russia had passed her some papers she had dropped and she flushed a bright red at the sight of his hands as she remembers being carried in them after getting completely pissed after stupidly challenging Russia to a drinking contest. He went to put her in bed, to tuck her in- a gesture too kind for her to imagine him doing, when she leans up wraps her hands around his neck and kiss him square on the lips. His eyes widen in shock, they're filled with a certain innocence that England naturally wants to destroy.

She remembers the night slowly and the idea of dominating Russia of all Nations is so delicious, she can't help but dream for another night where she isn't drunk just so she can remember everything clearly… but alas it's Russia- she'd never dare do something nearly as daring completely sober... She looks over at Russia who is frantically talking to his younger sister, trying to back away from her…

Ok… so she might be a little willing to do something that daring, Russia couldn't be _that_ bad if he let his sister get away with such _dreadful_ acts…

**.**

_**Her most planned…**_

**.**

If asked she would say Estonia was the last Nation in the world she would ever imagine having sex with… ok that's aside the obvious ones like Sealand- she wasn't some kind of paedophile thank you very much. But no Estonia was the last Nation she had planned on sleeping with… until the other month.

She had been dragged to the wife carrying contest by Denmark… _again_, like he did _every_ year- the insufferable git used her as his "backup" wife if he couldn't convince Norway or the rest of his family to let him carry them, meaning she was often used. Thankfully this year Iceland had been dragged into being carried, so she stood to the side with Norway and watched as the Nations and their people got prepared to run with their "wives". She hadn't really been paying attention to it that well, much more enjoying Norway's company- talking about the Fae was much more enjoyable than some silly strength contest… ok so she got to enjoy some of the beer afterwards with the others seeing as they _usually_ won, but that was beside the point.

Though when Estonia came along carrying Latvia without problem England had to question why Latvia was clinging to his back for dear life instead of Estonia carrying him in a fireman's lift or something similar.

"It's how he always enters the contest… finds it easier…" Norway had muttered before they carried on their conversation, but somewhere in the recesses of her mind she couldn't help but think of Estonia's arms holding her up, while she sucks him off- the thought is strangely delightful.

It's a while before she suggests such a plan to him- he ponders for a minute or two (she hadn't really been counting the time) before agreeing, but not before getting his laptop out and endlessly designing different plans- the safest plans, the more pleasurable, the most outright stupid.

"Need to make sure nothing goes wrong," he had explained as she leaned over his shoulder to watch him make some diagram. "It'll be dangerous if I drop you…"

And England can understand his worries, so she decides to help with preparations after all she gets to have fun at the end of it all…

**.**

_**Her most spontaneous…**_

**.**

She can't for love of her honestly say why she had sex with _him_ of all Nations. Maybe it was the worried glances that he hadn't quite managed to shake off after living with Russia. Maybe it was the gossip that Poland had shared with her from when he had dated him centuries before. Maybe it was the fact that they didn't have any strings attached: no worry that that they've forever ruined their relationship- because really how can you ruin something that never existed in the first place?

But what she can say is he welcomes her into his house graciously with a bright smile, brings her tea like a true gentleman and shows her that maybe not everyone who had been under Russia's control were crazy. She knows that he can kiss, kiss with all the passion and strength that Poland had informed her he had, kisses like a lover who has been told that if he lets go now he'd never see his beloved again. She can't inform you who started the kiss.

They had been sitting on his couch discussing this and that- meetings a hectic mess at the moment (like they always were within the EU). She can't really explain what happened only that her next coherent thought is of the two of them lips locked and she had her back on the rough surfaced couch with her hands wrapped around his waist: he leans into her eagerly, tongue fiercely fighting with hers for dominance.

No… She really for the love of her can't explain their one night stand, but hey she can happily say she didn't regret it at all…

**.**

_**Her most compromising…**_

**.**

They'd talked endlessly about it. Ok… so it had taken her a while for him to confess what he'd always wanted to do, what had always turned him on. She can't say she's surprised… but she kind of is… because really guns are just a little too predictable for him…

Not that she minds as she lays back, spreads her legs as wide as she can. He approaches, face overly flushed and he's a little bit of mess, she's worried that he may feel a little stressed over it all, as he shakily takes out his gun. It's long… maybe a little _too_ long, but she's had worst.

_One bullet_… she had told him, while laughing as though this was child's play. _We can play a game of Russian roulette if you like_. She kind of regrets saying that when he takes out another gun: a revolver.

She's prepared, overly prepared, but she's thankful for it as the gun pierces her, her eyes go wide and she kind of wants to escape the feeling, the beginning on the gun is small and thin, but _long_. It's bumpy, little ridges running along the edge of it and it's kind of uncomfortable, but she's had worse. She jumps slightly when she feels the front sight push into her and she arches slightly at the unnatural feeling, the feeling of her being stretched for it to go further.

She hears the revolver being cocked and the sounds of metal being spun. He places the tip of the revolver at her lips and she opens her mouth and licks the gun, takes it in her mouth, watching him, thinking of it as though it was him. She doesn't think he'd really shoot, but with his fingers on both triggers as they slowly start moving in and out of her, just sets the hairs on the back of her neck up… She vows to never re-enact someone's sexual fantasy again if they all end up like that…

**.**

_**Her cheated…**_

**.**

When she heard you could win a date if you beat her at poker there was no way England was going to turn down a game. She enjoyed poker, she enjoyed a pleasant date with pleasing company every now and again and she definitely enjoyed getting overly affectionate with those France loved. She had approached Monaco with a cheeky grin, relaxed into the seat opposite and set her side of the deal- Monaco accepted easily- all the while a childishly excited smile spread across her face.

England had won… to Monaco's surprise and France's annoyance.

England wrapped an arm around Monaco's waist, pulled her to her side and took her prize of a date. She hadn't expected anymore, maybe a walk around the shops, a little bit of talk and a seething France when he thinks of what England _could_ be doing to his precious sister, but well… whatever could be happening _did_ happen.

They had been in a clothes shop Monaco said she enjoyed visiting and where clothes weren't to England's interest she had agreed… only to find herself backed up in a changing room with lips kissing along her neck and hands pulling clothes loose.

"Well you won," Monaco would smile afterwards when answering why they'd just had sex in a changing room and England can't help but feel a little bad after all she had had a couple of cards hidden up her sleeve...

**.**

_**Her corniest…**_

**.**

"That's a nice shirt…" They had been drinking, Prussia and her, like usual- "can I talk you out of it?" England snorted as Prussia attempted to show England his "_awesome_" flirting powers.

"No wonder you haven't gotten anywhere with Hungary. Australia can flirt better than that and his idea of asking someone out is to question whether they'd like a shag or not," England had openly laughed as she downed her… something number drink- she'll openly admit to hating maths, it's why she leaves her financing for others to solve.

"Oh, so what do you suggest I do?" Prussia snickers as England makes the girliest noise he's ever heard from her as he picks her up and puts her on his lap: she sends him an indulgent look before going back to happily drinking her pint. "Force myself on others?"

"Of course not," she slaps his hand, that rests on her thigh, jokingly. "But even sending flowers and chocolates is less corny than that line."

"So if I go and buy you some chocolates with a note saying 'you're so sweet I'm getting cavities' you'll let me get laid?" He laughs as England slaps his hand again, even with actual force behind her hits she isn't strong; she's always using others to fight for her: she's never had to use a lot of force before.

"Get rid of the note and you might find yourself lucky," she rolls her eyes, but snickers lightly as she feels his lips kiss her neck.

"So… Are you a sergeant?" He pauses long enough for England to groan, but not long enough for her to make a sarcastic comment. "Cause you make my privates stand up straight." There's a moments silence, before they both fall into uncontrollable laughter.

"God… Prussia, what makes you think that last one would work on anyone?" She looks at his eyes; ruby meets emerald as he grins.

"Third times lucky, right?"

**.**

_**Her most devious…**_

**.**

She kisses the young girl's wrist, admires her dark, dark skin. The girl watches her every move with open curiosity. Her fingers rub soothing circles up and along the girl's arm all the way to her shoulder, large brown eyes continue to watch and she smiles to them.

"You're beautiful…" she mutters into her dark skinned flesh, places kisses between each murmur, her hand moves up to the locks of brown hair pulls them free from the red ribbons and her hair curves around her delicate heart shaped face- the girl continues to watch her, a dull blush stretching across her cheeks.

"But you already know that don't you? France must have told you already…" The girl's eyes grow wide.

"You know big brother France...?" She mutters and England nods and kisses the girls wrist again- the girl relaxes into her touch and England couldn't help but smirk: what would France do when he realises she's capturing yet another of his colonies…

**.**

_**Her most risky…**_

**.**

She's not fond of him at the moment, she tells him as such, all the while watching him with un-amused eyes, because really why would you trust the Ottoman Empire? Even she, the Nation who had been supporting everything he did for the last century, wouldn't be foolish enough to let her guard down around him.

"Where's the lack of respect to your elders England?" He jokingly questions: England can't tell what he's thinking with his face masked, can't predict what he might or might not do- she can't have him telling Germany that she's behind the railway not being built, she can't have him stopping her from coming to his land to steal equipment and rearrange Germany's hard work through the night, but she can't give Ottoman a smile and bargain something better than Germany, she doesn't want to be involved with either of them to be honest, but she needs to stop the railway from reaching _her_ Indian Ocean.

"I don't respect those who go about massacring hundreds," she glares and he laughs openly at her.

"This from the British Empire?" England clenches her hand into a fist at that, barely resisting the urge to punch the elder man, sure she's not innocent, and sure she's done horrible things… but… but not _that_ horrible.

"I don't have time for games Ottoman, what do you want?" She glares up at him. "I'm in a hurry."

"I noticed," he rests into the chair behind him, grinning at her. "But as you've made obvious you're not fond of me, why should you do anything to improve our relations?"

"Not for our relations," she scoffs as she walks over to him, drapes herself over his legs and straddles him, might as well get it over with right? He laughs.

"Then what for England?" She can see his eyes this close, they're… unique, secretive… she's always wanted to unmask them and make them quiver under her control.

"For silence, I don't want Germany knowing this happened," he leans back in his seat, giving her an inquisitive glance before sending her a vicious grin.

"Then make me want it. And you may wish to go about doing so quickly unless you want to be caught by Germany, he's coming over for a meeting soon," she ignores the snarky remark to thread her fingers through his hair.

She's not fond of him at the moment, there's an endless number of other Nations she'd rather be straddling at the moment, but if she doesn't do this… she doesn't want to think of those consequences… So she doesn't; she leans forward captures his lips and goes about trying to give Ottoman the best show he's ever seen.

**.**

_**Her most imagined…**_

**.**

She remembers being carried in his arms, remembers the strength behind them, the muscle. She remembers how he viciously tore through her enemies, remembers how he promised to love her for all eternity, remembers how he kept her protected, safe and strong. He promised her a land united, a land where she is whole and complete, a land where she is fully grown… she has it…

She has her land, she's safe (or well as safe as she can be), she's strong and she's grown into the beautiful woman he promised her she would be, but… but she doesn't have him… he's not here with her like he promised… all she has are the illusions, the dreams- fantasies she had back then, fantasies she has now.

His strong hands… she wonders how they'd feel… worn, tough, strong… kind… would glide too lightly against her body, against her hip bone, against her lips, against her everything. His eyes… she believes they were a unique shade of hazel… they'd stare at her lovingly. His lips… she'd leave her fingers against them as he whispers her name and she'd _feel_ her name being lovingly said.

But… but maybe he'd be more passionate, less calm- maybe he'd pound into her as vigorously as he attacked all her enemies, maybe he'd conquer each of her lands as he had to, to make her whole- maybe he'd touch her roughly in every part, eyes ablaze with an eternal flame. Maybe she'd ache and hurt all over from his touch and she wouldn't be able to forget it for weeks and maybe he wouldn't want her to forget.

Maybe it would be pathetic…

She doesn't know. All she has is her memories of him… sometimes she's tempted to go to his church- strip down to nothing and pretend he could see her now, pretend he could do whatever he wants… she knows it can't happen… he's left her land… long, long ago… she misses him… her first king of England…

**.**

_**Her most magical…**_

**.**

He sits her down, she's nervous- she hasn't really done anything like this before, he takes out his hair clip, let's his hair fall into his eyes, she hesitantly let's her fingers find their way to the tuffs of hair. He stays still as she leans closer to him; he stays still as she shakily lets her fingers play with his hair, move against his cheeks, move against his nose, his eyelids, his ears, lips.

Her fingers stop there and her large eyes look at him- she's not positive what to do. He calmly removes his cloak, calmly removes his tunic, leaving him in only his trousers and boots- small dagger strapped to his waist. Her fingers drape across his bare chest- there's no muscle; it's all child-like squishy flesh: she's used to strong men around her… though she guesses he has a certain feminine appearance… it might be that, that made her relax to him being this intimate with her.

Her cheeks flare up a bright red as her hands find his nipples- they stop- she doesn't want to carry on… she… she was interested in sex, but… it's kind… it's kind of scary now that she's doing it…

"Norway…" She mutters, voice filled with fear. "I'm not sure I'm…"

He places a finger to her lips, tilts her chin to look into his eyes- they're calm and just so normal that the tension slowly leaves England and her fingers eventually move to feel the rest of the flesh he's revealed for her, she doesn't want to imagine what his actual… _thing_… is like… or the fact that'll she'll have to… _touch_… it…

But she's… she's sure he'll make her relaxed… and that'll he'll make her enjoy it… this is her first time… and it's with the ever-so-sensible Norway… so it _has_ to be some kind of magical…

**.**

_**Her most reserved…**_

**.**

He looks like he wants to do something more… maybe he wants to kiss her, maybe he wants to go in deeper, maybe he wants to fulfil his most inner sexual fantasy. He shuts his eyes, breathes in deeply and continues as though he never hesitated and smiles at her.

"England I…" he mutters as he presses a kiss to the side of her neck, he doesn't finish his sentence: he never does.

England wraps her legs around his waist, tightens them and pushes into him slightly. She doesn't do anymore: she never does. She's sure he wants her to do something, wants to make her arch into his every touch, wants her to remember his every touch, but he's Cyprus… her most peace loving colony, the commonwealth Nation she has to see the most and if it goes any further she's not sure what will happen to their relationship so…

He breathes in deeply- stopping himself from ravishing her completely. She tightens herself around him- a small reminder that she's there for a while… but no longer…

**.**

_**Her most painful…**_

**.**

His fingers are large. His hands are large. He has two fingers stuffed in her mouth, choking her, she bites down on them as hard as possible; the thumb of the same hand tilts her head up- stops her eyes from being able to see what he's going to do next- not that they can see him- facing the wall as she is. His other hand keeps both of her arms shut tightly against her back- they're pushed so far into her that she's being pushed completely into the wall.

He's far up her arse. It hurts…

He had her pushed to the ground earlier while preparing her, he used the least amount of lubrication as possible- she blames his cheapness on everything- he probably didn't want to waste too much, as long as he was able to push his way in… she'll heal after all but his money won't from this night- it's not like she paid for it.

Every time he pushes further into her, she bites his fingers harder. He hits her G-spot every time and God… Oh God that feels so good, but she's being driven into a harsh stone wall and her breasts are not enjoying the feeling. She growls around his fingers- she wants to curse him, wants to bite his fingers off, but every time she goes to- he pushes his fingers slightly further down her throat- a silent threat as she feels herself almost gag.

Everything's painful… everything's uncomfortable, but she still comes for him and he carries on mercilessly, because after all he _must_ be on the better side of the deal… _bastard_.

**.**

_**Her worst…**_

**.**

She's sadly shocked that _he's_ her worst. I mean it's _Portugal_ of all Nations. The Nation that had always been by her side, the Nation that had kissed her so sweetly that she almost believed love could exist between them, for God's sake look at his family there's no way he _couldn't_ be good…

And well maybe he _IS_ good. She's heard others say he is… she's heard the rumours: _he's wonderful_, they say almost mockingly, _absolutely divine_. But… it wasn't for them.

His fingers touch her _too_ lightly- almost afraid to break her. Her touches are _too_ hard- almost as though she'll win some prize if she hurts him. He treats her like she'll break if the wind comes around to say hi and she just wants to push him over and ride him if it'll make things more exciting.

But he murmurs words of love through grimaces and she returns them as she tries to thrust into his touch even more. They're completely out of sync.

They never speak of that night again, their hands intertwine, they share kisses and anyone looking at them would believe that they're perfect together, that they must make the other scream loudly throughout the throes of passion- they're wrong… and it's a shame, because Portugal is a Nation England wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life with… she's been with him more than enough years, but he's just too gentle to the one he loves- scared to break her and she's too harsh knowing he'd forgive her no matter what…

**.**

_**Her most out of this world…**_

**.**

She whistles a little tune into the morning air- it's some song by the Sex Pistols. She almost wants to skip around, she feels so alive and it's wonderful not to have to worry about politics- they don't want her around, neither do half the Nations- too "dangerous" to be around at the moment. She laughed at that- they always thought she was too weak for anarchy and when she brought a little rebellion to her little island they freaked out and dubbed her too dangerous to approach- silly fools.

She hears the unmistakable and unique sound of the lovingly familiar but indescribable noise that belongs to the TARDIS, and blinks. Well that was rare- she hasn't seen him in a _long_ while.

"Doctor!" She calls when she finds the blue police box and sees the man in question wandering around the entrance- he smiles at her- his teeth are extremely white, his hair a messy brown and a little taller than her than the last time she saw him… another regeneration?

"England! Look at you! Are we in the 80s? Wow… you're gonna regret dressing like that in a few years from now! The others will endlessly tease you about it and Thatcher never did forgive you for going off and starting fights!" He whistles and England rolls her eyes.

She grins as she hugs him and he freezes a little- she's sure he never expected her to do that and the thrill of catching him off guard is so enjoyable… just how knowledgeable was the knowledgeable Doctor? She grins at him and pushes him into the police box's door- he looks a little worried.

"Now England, you must really think what you are doing and-" he jumps suddenly as she hoops a thumb into his belt and pulls their hips together. "And you really shouldn't be-"

"I'm just curious Doctor…" she purrs, leaning her head on his chest, she can hear and feel the distinct feeling of two heartbeats and grins.

"What are we curious about England?" He's trying to lean out of her touch, but she just tugs his hips towards her own again, he's always been weaker than her- sadly her intelligence has nothing on his.

"Well…" She slowly lets her fingers circle gently against the fabric of his trousers. "I was wondering… If you have two hearts… surely you _might_ have two or more of another organ…" And she'll probably regret this at a later date and it probably explained the visit he made to her as a child telling her to never drag a time lord into her sexual fantasies, but the idea's just _too_ irresistible to ignore…

**.**

_**Her most natural…**_

**.**

"I thought you'd be sad without big brother France around to cook, ve…" he had muttered when he had entered her house, she wanted to kick him out for making that simple statement, but he looked like a kicked puppy and she always had a weakness against such expressions. Veneziano's lying, she didn't think he had it in him, but he is- he's sad and lonely because he doesn't have a Germany to cook for- Germany and France being on a date (yes she knows the EU meetings are awkward enough without the two awkwardly flirting- _thank you very much_).

She lets him cook her pasta. Lets him cook her pizza. Lets him cook her whatever meal he wants to, maybe it's some _pollo_ wrapped in a thick and rich cheese and tomato sauce, maybe it's his attempt at one of her recipes- she laughed as his attempt to cook shepherd's pie.

He stays for a long time, visits often and somewhere among the treats he cooks, her teaching him to play rugby and sharing pictures they've painted, they start kissing. It's simple- hardly noticeable. Soon they start greeting each other with a kiss and walking down corridors hand in hand- no one notices, blames it on Veneziano being well… _Veneziano_- she does herself, until they go a stage further.

His hands around her waist, tongues gliding together- it's natural. Too natural… but it feels wonderful and she can't help but enjoy the feeling… and she kind of hopes this becomes the norm as well…

**.**

_**Her most feminine…**_

**.**

She wears a dress, it cuts off mid thigh: it's a dark emerald, sleeveless, low cut and is made of a sheer lace like material with black frill trimming running along each edge. Hungary had wiped England's face over, admired her clear face before dubbing it pretty enough to not need anything more- she had to blush at that. Sugar coated lip gloss is smudged along her lips and licked off with a low hum not too long afterwards. Her blonde hair has been plaited… _French_ plaited, and pushed to the side so the dress brushing lightly against her pale flesh could be admired by Hungary's watching eyes.

Hungary herself sits in front of her, legs spread far apart- a strap on lying where Hungary would have liked a real penis to have been. She has knee high boots on; her hair's tied back giving her face a boyish glow as she smirks a playful smile at England. Her breasts lay still and bare- completely forgotten as Hungary's hands grab England's thighs- slide up under the dress and teasingly glide along her thighs.

"You're gorgeous England…" Hungary mutters before her tongue traces a perk nipple through the material, her tongue circles clockwise, anti-clockwise, clockwise- England moans lightly, her arms wrapping around Hungary's head- slipping into brown locks of hair.

"Absolutely stunning," Hungary breathes in before she bites the hardening nub and England arches into her mouth even more as Hungary starts sucking, pulling at it every now and then before kissing it almost apologetically.

England feels like she shouldn't feel nearly as feminine as she does in the arms of another woman, with a strap on between them, but Hungary has such a boyish flare- one that most men are missing out on that she can't help but feel like a fragile woman… she usually doesn't like being treated like that, but for Hungary… she could totally make an exception.

**.**

_**Her most political…**_

**.**

She doesn't particularly feel the need to remember it: for them it was all politics. She's sure he feels almost everything is politics. He'd flush a bright red, look lost and uncertain, but let her get on with the deed.

She'd try to make it enjoyable, try to bring some joy to everything, but he'd get embarrassed and clamp up at suggesting things that were _too_ "dirty", would be compared to France if she did that- she _hates_ France. She just can't find a way to make things interesting and he'd just let those he's in an alliance with do what must be done, she sighs, how Hungary stayed married to him for so long without feeling sexually deprived was beyond her… but.

He comes and passes her a perfectly brewed cup of tea after they've finished their "business", she takes a grateful sip as he goes to his piano and plays a calming melody… she can kind of understand why someone would fall for him…

**.**

_**Her most documented…**_

**.**

She has him spread out in front of her, his red locks of hair stick to his sweaty face, his turquoise eyes watch her mockingly from below (they're filled with defiance and acceptance).

"_Sasana_, planning on doing anything more than touching?" He questions in a husky singsong voice, she glares at him and pinches his perk nipple much harder than needed- he yelps in surprise.

"I'm just discovering what land you've kept hidden from me," she answers back, her hands dip under his knee- where she had earlier discovered a beauty spot to be hiding. "After all we should be sharing these kind of facts right, _brother_?"

"What you're doing-" he holds back a groan as she taps his growing erection "_playfully_" and glares at her. "What you're doing is mapping me."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Before he has the chance to comment (Because for the love of God he has so many problems with that) she presses their lips together, slips her tongue into his moist caverns, more discovering and mapping to do.

He groans and falls back with England following his every movement, tongue and fingers mapping him as well as her people were, changing the names of his fair cities, changing him. He really doesn't enjoy it, really doesn't like it: he'd love to be able to forget this little moment ever happened, but she starts producing maps of him and it's a constant reminder of what she's done… what she could do…

**.**

_**Her most memorable…**_

**.**

It would shock many to know that England's most memorable hadn't been the orgy with some other world powers, it had felt wonderful but not memorable she can hardly remember who she had been sucking off or who was in her, nor was it any of the obvious Nations they'd suggest like America or France… no those definitely weren't _memorable_… per se. No her most memorable had been her ever so loyal Canada- this would shock half the Nations simply due to the fact that they'd have to stop and think back on which Nation it actually was (and once drawing the conclusion it was America's brother, would assume the worst).

But, Canada was and she's sure always will be her most memorable. She remembers him waiting for her at her house through the Victorian age with a large bouquet of roses, red and white, newly brought waist coat nervously flattened down, his hair brushed and looking more silky and bouncy than usual.

He had taken her hand, smiled as he pressed a kiss to each finger of her left hand, the hand he had grabbed, starting with the thumb and proceeded to tell her how he had always loved her. She had laughed at such words- Canada hadn't _always _loved her- but she was flattered nonetheless.

They had entered her house and "made loved" as he called it. She remembers his every touch, their every movement, exactly where each moment had happened, remembers the smell of roses as they fell onto the bed with them- it had taken decades almost to reach it. She remembers them ignoring the maid- more engrossed in each other and she remembers every word he had muttered in her ear- English, and no matter how hard he tried to resist a little French slipped through.

She remembers everything she had done with Canada much more than she remembers sleeping with thousands of others and she can still remember it perfectly, as can he- as he had told her one day when they sat down drinking tea, they had smiled at each other- it was their precious little memory.

**.**

_**Her most disappointing…**_

**.**

His wheat blonde hair, his fresh water blue eyes, his "hero's" smile, his golden personality it was all meant to be wonderful. He could sweep her of her feet- she'd hit him for it, but laugh along with him. She wouldn't mind where they went- they could go to McDonalds, there was no need for a fancy restaurant- she's not sure she'd like too fancy for a date anyway. They could watch a film- horror or whatever she's not fused really- staying in the warm house might be more fun.

But they don't even do that.

He's long and she kisses up and down him, letting her lips slowly glide over his head, an occasional lick, an occasional caress- she wants him to enjoy it fully. They're in his office; he sits at his desk- fingers digging deeply into the table in front of him, she sits on her knees, hands and lips working him up.

"Hurry… hurry up England…" he mutters- his accent wonderful to her ears. "I… I have a meeting and…"

She doesn't really want to yet, but… she takes him as far as her throat will let her, her tongue licking at him as her head bobs up and down- he breathes quickly, thrusting into her mouth (and that just makes her feel like she's going to throw up). There's not really a lot she can say to add to the excitement… she just continued up and down, licking- moaning and he came. Nothing exciting… he came a little _too_ early for her liking.

He's off a second later and she sighs going off to get a drink- a heavy one. She hardly aches- she hasn't come, she imagined more exciting things between the two, but… but he's always busy… she sighs- so for their "_special_" relationship…

**.**

_**Her most violent…**_

**.**

Her wrist's been cut into… as has her cheek, her thigh, her stomach- but it's ultimately her who gets the advantage. She sits on Belarus' waist, one hand mercilessly crushing the younger girl's wrist- the wrist attached to the hand with the rage filled knife in it.

"You're trying to hurt brother," she glares at her with her ice filled eyes. "No one gets away with hurting brother."

"I'm just trying to find some documents…" she smiles down at Belarus, usually a smile convinces others she means no harm: Belarus only tries to get rid of her quicker.

"And that'll hurt brother!"

A guard is nearing and England without the hands free to help silence the Nation below her kisses the girl. She doesn't know how it ended up any more than a kiss, but she can assure you she ended up hurting for weeks… Why did she let go of that knife wielding hand again?

**.**

_**Her most cheerful…**_

**.**

He had smiled. Had laughed. He was bloodied and beaten beyond belief but he smiled nonetheless.

She was frowning. Close to tears. Blood and cuts covered her body completely- her soldiers spread out across the globe- dying across the globe.

"Everything will be fine England," he had laughed, fingers brushing soothingly through her hair. They've never been on steady terms- one Nation or another around them doing something that would set them against each other in one war or another- but they don't hate each other… it's just what needed to be done at the time.

He pulls her to his lips kisses her soothingly, apologetically and she has to question why he's the one saying sorry… she's the one who didn't get to him in time. But he keeps the smile up, keeps laughing and by the end of it, high on the adrenaline, she can't help but smile, laugh and cry with him, because damn it all… the world is just so weird…

**.**

_**Her most persuasive…**_

**.**

She has to get this just right- she had been informed by India, if she didn't get China addicted again there was no way they'd win. She had been put into a red dress- a Chinese styled one that was far too tight around her waist, but she'd dealt with far worse corsets; she let it slip from both shoulders, advertising her flesh for all who could see.

She leant on her side, pipe heating up around the flame that sat between her and China. Her legs spread out along the cushions on her side, the dress slipping off one leg a little too _dangerously_. She smirked over at China with hooded eyes, he gulped; eyes looking everywhere not quite sure what he was meant to be eyeing- the opium, the dress, _her_.

She inhaled the drug- she's not actually fond of opium but if it's essential… she leant over to China- dress slipping off even more, pipe hardly any distance from him.

"Wouldn't you like to join me in a state of euphoria, _China_?" She's not sure what gets him in the end, but he can't get enough and, she smiles, trade is now under her command again…

**.**

_**Her most regretted…**_

**.**

She was physically a teenager- well so was he, when he took her. He held her close, struggled with his clothes, struggled even more with hers before kissing her and she let him have her however he wanted. Afterwards they'd lie out and talk; she'd tell him stories of past rulers, of rulers he'd like to surpass.

When he hears how depressed she gets when her most loved leaders marry foreigners for political reasons- he goes out gets himself an English wife, defies the idea of a political marriage and winks at her- she can't help but blush. As he gets children, as he falls for his wife, as he goes out to fight for her- he becomes less infatuated with her small underdeveloped breasts and her now childish body. She's happy for him though.

"I'm English!" He had happily declared… her first leader in a long while to think of them as such and she can't help but laugh and smile for him. She regrets that her being there made his life all the more tragic though…

**.**

_**Her most soothing…**_

**.**

She gasps as he pours water onto her wounds, onto her burns. He kisses each mark he comes across, he helps sooth them. There's water everywhere and he takes out creams and smears it into the burns, wraps them, kisses the bandages. They'll heal.

She lies carefully on the cotton sheets, and he moves gently above her- he's completely bare and England's surprised to see his hair, it's longer than she expected… she never really expected him to have hair… though she doesn't know _why_. The outside of his eyes are dark- a pitch black. His lips are drawn into their usual emotionless line, but his eyes seem to smile at her.

The kisses are dry but filled with a certain uniqueness… just like all the deserts that spread across his land. He gently rubs circles into all of her wounds (old and new) and she feels so much better seeing him completely, being treated gently.

It's afterwards though, as they lie together for a little longer, both of his hands wrapped around her left hand while her right hand brushes through his dark locks of hair.

"Thank you…" He mutters and she blinks shocked- she hasn't really heard him talk _that_ much before. "For helping me break from Ottoman's control… but I can't stay in your Empire… I hope… you understand…"

And she feels she can and she's so grateful that he stays there as she rubs circles into his skull, so grateful that he helped tend to all her wounds before up and leaving, so grateful for the words that she feels she can bare to see him go… she can think back on this moment and she won't cry at all because he stayed and soothed away any and all pre-existing wounds…

**.**

_**Her most bloody…**_

**.**

Teeth slink across her flesh. A nip there and bite here, but they never go further than that. Her emerald eyes watch him as he moves across her body, as he slyly undoes her blouse, lets it fall to the floor, two fingers slip under her bra to play with the hidden flesh. His lips kiss along her collar bone, as his other hand slips down to her trousers, undoes the buckle to her belt and goes through the tormentingly slow process of unbuttoning her trousers.

When there's enough room for his hand to slither under her trousers it creeps forward, past her laced pants and rests just before her opening. He hasn't takes his gloves off, he's completely dressed and he smiles at her, his deceivingly sharp teeth glinting in the candle light. The thumb of his hand under her bra forces the fabric down to reveal one slowly hardening nipple and plenty of creamy flesh.

"You ready?" He mutters as his lips kiss their way to her breasts, he rests his lips where he can feel her heart beating fast- it's exhilarating.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she manages a smile, she owed him a spell after he put that balding curse on France for her- she just never expected she'd have to give so much blood and have sex for his repayment spell.

He places a quick kiss- an apology beforehand. Then without hesitation his teeth rip through her flesh straight into the blood vessels next to her heart, his gloved fingers push past lips and into her. She arches, manages to just silence her scream and tries to focus on the fingers trying to bring her some form of pleasure instead of those horrid teeth… Oh the pain she goes through for her spells…

**.**

_**Her cutest…**_

**.**

He's quiet. She has him on his back, straddling his stomach. His face is flushed a bright red and she smiles at him as he shyly glances up at her. Light reflects off his glasses and makes it impossible to see what emotion his topaz eyes are revealing.

She moves her hand up from his sides, where she had been teasingly rubbing circles into his beautifully dark flesh, and slowly moves them up along his abdomen. She flexes her fingers out along his flesh, let's her touch devour his every pore, claims whatever land she's _well_ acquainted with and some land France has. Her nails press in hard enough to draw faint white lines into his flesh. He breathes in sharply all the while his eyes never leave her.

Her fingers glide over his muscles, they're strong and she loves them, it's why she chose to sit on his waist, she can feel his defined abs strain under her as he attempts not to moan loudly, attempts not to move too much, she finds it strange that he's unaware of what to do, she believes he's something like twice her age.

Her hands tip toe across his lifeless nipples, over the sharp ridges of his collar bone and dip down and up across the vast valleys that make his Adam's apple. Her fingers sooth their way across his jaw bone, it's rough but unshaven. Her fingers slip along his cheeks, brush lightly to the side of his face and surround his ears.

She can see the faint sign of embarrassment lurking across his cheeks, with the small blush, the nervous twitches, the hot flesh. She can tell he's nervous when she removes his glasses: his eyes shut tight. She blinks down at him.

"Why are your eyes shut Cameroon?" She questions softly, quietly- her fingers tracing the creases his flesh had formed from closing his eyes too tightly.

"Just…" He doesn't say anymore as he shakes his head side to side, clenches his fists tight and gulps nervously. She smiles at the adorable sight of a fully grown man (a highly masculine one at that) just shyly trying to avoid what was going on… kind of like a child actually.

"Cameroon, it's alright," she strokes his cheek affectionately. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything."

She places a kiss to each eye, to each cheek; a softer more delicate kiss is given to his lips (which are much larger than she expected them to be).

He shyly opens his eyes and he feels as though he's woken up in heaven, he accidently tells her as such and she can't help but laugh a light flattered laugh, because surely only angels can smile like that.

**.**

_**Her sweetest…**_

**.**

Her sweetest comes in the form of a small and adorable girl. She looks down at her with her withdrawn eyes, eyes that seem to hide all emotion, but there's an obvious flush across her cheeks, the redness sneakily creeps onto her ears and neck, her delightfully pale flesh making it all the more obvious. And she clings tightly to her dress; nervously twitches every now and then.

England herself is resting on the floor- knelt down as she would for her royal family, knelt down as though she was preparing to propose, knelt down as though to help a younger sister do the laces to her boots up. Only that's not what she's planning, she undoes each buckle, slowly pulls the laces undone. The top of the boots fall loose, revealing the rose patterned tights underneath.

England places her lips to the top of her boots as the girl in front of her lifts her leg enough for England to remove it- she lets her lips follow the movement as it falls to the ground, kisses the tip of her delicate little feet, before kissing back up her leg. Kisses up along her inner thigh. Up to her most private of places. Places a fleeting kiss. Moves back down her other leg.

The girl conceals little gasps each kiss. Each gasp excites England, but she'll be slow, loving, she'll treat Liechtenstein like the most precious jewel in the world (after all what would her brother do if he found out someone had been rough with his adorable little sister). She'll treat the sweet girl like she's a princess- a queen, England will pretend that she hadn't spent £40,000 just to have her for the day, will pretend she doesn't want to spend that much for another, she'll pretend the younger Nation wasn't worth as much as she paid for and complain to France about it at a later date.

But she feels the small dainty fingers skim through her hair nervously. Feels the light shivers of excitement in the girl's body as she remembers where England had put her tongue the day before (another £40,000 wasted). Feels the excitement build in herself as she remembers how the girl tasted, how she withered and begged.

She can't fool herself. The girl is sweet; a wonderful treat worth every penny and more, England just wishes she didn't have quite that much of a sweet tooth.

**.**

_**Her laziest…**_

**.**

There's no need for formality. No need for prose upon prose of sweet nothings about the others beauty and how they'd like to own the other, dominate the other. No need for lies or the truth for that matter.

They just go to each other, at his house- she enjoys visiting in the summer, enjoys listening to his talks on what he feels the world is like, what it was like. Enjoys watching as he sweats and his concealed muscles ripple under the strength he puts in to discovering his Mother's land. Enjoys the way his English still dips in and out of his Greek accent without care of notice. She loves his unique teal eyes.

They lay stretched out of his floor, like the cats he adores, her on top of him. She yawns as she kisses him. He has to blink to keep himself awake as his fingers rub lazy circles along her spine. She slowly arches into him- away from his fingers and teasingly licks his lips: not asking for permission to delve into hidden and ancient ruins just being playful.

She leans her head on his chest, just under his collar bone, as her fingers trails a snail's trail down to his need, she's not really sure when they got wet enough to go through with full sex but Greece just has a way with making her too tired to care, makes her relax way beyond her abilities of relaxing. So, she snuggles into him as she strokes him slowly, no urgent need to come, no urgent need to leave each other. His fingers do the same to her- not even bothering to push past her entrance, just teasing up and along her lips.

Neither mind, it's nice, relaxing- calm… and God do they need some calm with all that was happening with their countries at the moment…

**.**

_**Her most conflicting…**_

**.**

She wants to moan, well she does but it just gets caught in her throat with him pulsating in her. Her hands wrap around his legs, which are spread for her, they struggle to keep her up as she feels his tongue in her. She can't see them but she feels his deliciously dark hands at the top of her thigh, two fingers spread her open so his tongue can actually reach her. He leans up on his elbows.

"Enjoying it?" She hears him breathlessly ask and she makes a show of ignoring him, focuses on the task in front of her.

Her mouth sucks, her tongue licks, her lips kiss. She hears him groan, his head leaning lightly against her thigh before she feels his tongue again. He moves it slowly on the outside of her lips, dips into her for a second only to withdraw (her eyebrows draw together in frustration and she just manages to stop herself from moaning in discomfort- she wants him _in_ her). She feels his nose brush against flesh just below her opening, feels his fingers and his mouth (she loves his mouth; he knows how to use it wonderfully).

His lips withdraw again and kiss her thigh.

"Enjoying it, _Parvati_?" He questions again, only this time he pulls himself out of her mouth (much to her surprise) and flips them so he's hovering above her- face to face, she can't escape his eyes now. She flushes a bright red.

He kisses her; she tastes herself, eyes watching her. And she flushes more, her eyes debating whether they wanted to shut and enjoy the feeling or whether they wanted to watch India's enticing eyes. One of his hands find their way to her hair, the other to her hip bone.

"_Parvati_?" He murmurs between kisses and she doesn't know how to feel about being called that Hindu Goddess; doesn't know how she should take _India_ calling her as such. She loves him, everything about him- but there's clashes in their past, there's blood in their past, she doesn't think India could just forgive her, doesn't think he could just forget- decides he could never love her, so she doesn't know how to feel about it all.

"I was…" she manages to mutter, face flushed, as his lips find their way to her neck, she tilts her head up giving him move room. "So why the hell did you stop?"

"Needed to make sure you were enjoying yourself Parvati," he winks down at her, cheeky grin spread across his face. "After all this is for our _mutual_ benefit."

And she really doesn't like the wording. On neither of their sides. To India it seemed to just be a way forward, world power on the rise and all that. To her leader it was the second "special relationship", the next world power to help her survive in a world where she owned little, she sees how the first is going… she doesn't want that to happen all over again.

She captures his lips, he pushes into them and for a moment she can pretend it's perfect, that they were just normal humans, that they have a chance, but as always everything comes crashing down on her- she remembers everything she's done, everything he's done. She kisses a little harder, tries to make it not seem desperate.

She's worried about their relationship, but she guesses if anything goes wrong for them she'll just have another reason to hate David Cameron… right?

**.**

_**Her most Victorian…**_

**.**

It's a scandal. A potential one. What if she got pregnant? What if his wife found out? It's all highly Victorian, but she can blame that on their little love affair happening in 1835.

"I wonder…" He mutters out loud and she tries not to sigh as his fingers _once again_ stop moving. She lies on his kitchen table, she really expects servants to stroll in merrily- they don't. His hand rests against her cleavage and she _really_ expects them to move- they don't.

"What is it Brunel?" She mutters, voice holding her pure contempt.

"If we are to build this tunnel would it leave your body destroyed?" He questions and England can honestly say she's never questioned it… she tells him so, she also tells him it doesn't matter she'll probably heal. Nations always do.

**.**

_**Her most un-fucking believable…**_

**.**

Her hands are bound, her legs spread, gag pressed tightly into her mouth.

He smiles, pats her hair, turns the vibrator up higher.

She screams. It's muffled. Her emerald eyes are wide and she's screaming and panting into the gag, her body convulsing and trying to escape her bounds just so she can try and finger herself, she really doesn't mind if he watches- she'd probably find it all the more fun actually, but she _needs_ relief.

"England-san," he mutters sweetly, hand gently playing with the strands of hair that rest on her cheek. "Would you like us to carry on?"

She nods her head fast, she needs to- oh God she _needs_ to have relief.

He moves closer, smiles at her as he lubricates three fingers, slicks up her entrance and pushes into her ass- slowly, softly, tormentingly.

She arches and moans into the gag. She ends up having sex with Japan for a couple of hours, he manages to take her to new heights of pleasure slowly and she can't wait for their next meeting, because she's interested… what else could the small Asian Island?

**.**

_**Her most domineering…**_

**.**

She expected the former Viking to steal her, have his way with her and leave without a word. But Sweden passes her the strap-on like it's the most normal thing in the world. She blinks a little, taken aback, before grinning at him.

She's not really used to wearing one, but he shows her how to put it on calmly. She kisses him after she has it on, pushes him towards the bed, which he lies down on, her above him- breasts gliding against his lean muscles as she kisses her way down to his slowly growing erection, she gives it a kiss, a lick, takes the head in her mouth, before kissing along the underside of it, grazes her teeth lightly against his balls- he gulps worriedly at that and she can't help but laugh.

When she reaches his entrance she slicks her fingers, she knows what to do here, she's had plenty of Nations take her from behind- it's nothing new, but she doesn't know how to make it feel good for him, how much she'd need to slick him up for the size she's wearing.

He smiles at her, helps instruct her through what she's not sure on and pants as she takes him to a higher state of pleasure than she imagined seeing him in. She watches him from above as his head stretches back- she kisses and bites what neck she's able to reach and she can't help but say having that much control… it has upsides…

**.**

_**Her messiest…**_

**.**

Sweat slips down their bodies. It's so hot and plasters all their hair to their bodies. He grins at her as his hair falls into his eyes blocking out a majority of his view, she laughs and pushes it back into its usual slicked back style and kisses his forehead.

Come covers their bodies. She had licked and sucked him into ejaculation; it covered them- his stomach, her face. She had spluttered in surprise and sat on his lap with an eyebrow raised as he caught his breath. He had laughed at the vaguely sour look across her face- like a cat caught in the rain, he had licked the side of her cheek; his saliva mixing with his come before kissing England; she looked like a hissing cat afterwards: much to his amusement.

She had ripped his plaster off when she was riding him; he yelped and gripped her waist tighter. Glared at her as she poked her tongue at him and threw the plaster to the other side of the room. He flushed red when she kissed the small scar that rested on his nose.

He had pulled her hair loose, took her glasses off and admired her beauty. Called her out for the beautiful and strong woman he had always loved, took her hand in his, entwined their fingers- his tanned flesh one with her deathly paleness. He always did like to think of them as one, liked to think of himself as British- English- just on a sunnier land.

They lay together, the surrounding room a mess- their selves a mess, and grin.

"Love you, Pom," he says loudly, proudly- his feelings probably the only thing in the room that's not a mess.

She smiles.

"Love you too, Aus."

**.**

_**Her most heart wrenching…**_

**.**

"Bess…" she mutters. "My darling Bess…"

Her Queen smiles down at her, skin wrinkled and old. Eyes strong but resigned.

"My Nation… My wife…" Her hand reaches out and England takes it in both of hers, leans her head against it- tries not to cry. She loves her wife. They're married. Officially and in every way possible. She's never been married before.

"Don't leave me Bess…" She can barely keep the dams from leaking as her dear wife uses her other hand to tilt her head up.

England sees Bess' breasts, the breasts she once kissed through empty corridors, no one worried to leave their _female_ Nation with their _virgin_ Queen- because really why would women kiss? Why would they love each other? Be with each other?

England sees Bess' thin deteriorating wrist, remembers how Bess held her sword high on the shores of London as England was out fighting Spain off. Remembers how she clung tightly to those wrists when others tried to woe her away from England, away from her true love. Remembers how Bess shook her off and took her wrists in return, kissed each part of her hand before reprimanding England for not trusting her.

England's sees Bess' lips, remembers how they taste, how they feel, just… them.

She sighs when she meets Bess' eyes. The energy behind them- if only Bess could live with her forever, be there for her through thick and thin, live with her for everything.

"My love, you must let me go… you must go on. I love you like no other, but this is it…" A few months later her dear Bess dies, England's now taken by a Scottish King and she wails, cries and it takes many European Nations to keep her pulled off her darling Bess' coffin. She doesn't want her to leave; she doesn't want to have to leave her.

But she has too… It's what Bess told her to do. So she cries, she wails and sometimes even now she can't help as a couple tears fall… Why leave her, her dear and darling Bess?

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**You made it to the end? Have a biscuit! And a cuppa! Hope you lot enjoyed and review any kind of comment would be nice (especially advice on how not to write awful). I can't be bothered to write each historic/fun fact behind each snippet (I can barely remember it for some of them anyways) so well hope you enjoyed and I **_**did**_** enjoy trying to write each sex scene differently- hope it read that way! (Also I should stop being amazed by India's design, wasn't even a country I was desperately waiting for- I wanted Indonesia, Malaysia, some African countries, the amazing dictatorship controlled country of Lovely more- and now my friend's are getting annoyed with me drawing him over all their work and prating on about India-England ship, but it's not my fault! India came in and it reminded me when I was little my three favourite countries (other than the UK and Japan) were India, China and Russia… it's totally my silly child self's fault!)**_

**.**

**-King Arthur (Her almost and always)-**

**-Spain (Her most amusing)-**

**-New Zealand (Her most surprising)-**

**-Poland (Her most gentle)-**

**-Sherlock Holmes (Her most precise)-**

**-Germany (Her most awkward)-**

**-Hong Kong (Her most arousing) -**

**-William Blake (Her most poetic)-**

**-South Italy (her most unexpectedly pleasing)-**

**-Ukraine (Her most embarrassing)-**

**-France (Her most hated)-**

**-Sharpe (Her most roguish)-**

**-Denmark (Her loudest)-**

**-Russia (Her most drunk)-**

**-Estonia (Her most planned)-**

**-Lithuania (Her most spontaneous)**

**-Switzerland (Her most compromising)-**

**-Monaco (Her cheated)-**

**-Prussia (Her corniest)-**

**-Seychelles (Her most devious)-**

**-Turkey (Her most risky)-**

**-Alfred the great (Her most imagined)-**

**-Norway (Her most magical)-**

**-Cyprus (Her most reserved)-**

**-Netherlands (Her most painful)-**

**-Portugal (Her worst)-**

**-The Doctor (Her most out of this world)-**

**-North Italy (Her most natural)-**

**-Hungary (Her most feminine)-**

**-Austria (Her most political)-**

**-Ireland (Her most documented)-**

**-Canada (Her most memorable)-**

**-America (Her most disappointing)-**

**-Belarus (Her most violent)-**

**-Finland (Her most cheerful)-**

**-China (Her most persuasive)-**

**-Edward, the Black prince (Her most regretted)-**

**-Egypt (Her most soothing)-**

**-Romania (Her most bloody)-**

**-Cameroon (Her cutest)-**

**-Liechtenstein (Her sweetest)-**

**-Greece (Her laziest)-**

**-India (Her most conflicting)-**

**-Isambard Kingdom Brunel (Her most Victorian)-**

**-Japan (Her most un-fucking-believable)-**

**-Sweden (Her most domineering)-**

**-Australia (Her messiest)-**

**-Elizabeth the first (Her most heart wrenching)**


End file.
